


forever and no time has passed

by deathishauntedbyhumans



Series: modern day strip club au [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Choking (briefly and nonsexually), Explicit Consent, F/F, Fade to black sex, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Implied Sexual Content, Sexual Harassment, Strangers to Lovers, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, rating is mature and not explicit but there's a lot of casual references to sex/sexual activity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24139291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathishauntedbyhumans/pseuds/deathishauntedbyhumans
Summary: When you work at a seedy strip club that, nine times out of ten, is more of an underground brothel than anything else, you learn to keep your heart close to you and your emotions off of your sleeves. Or so Max thinks, until she meets a mysterious stranger in a long duster and a wide-brimmed hat that makes her feel more strongly than she has in a long time.
Relationships: Anne Bonny/Max
Series: modern day strip club au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2135106
Kudos: 30





	forever and no time has passed

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with SO MUCH LORE that's not even in this fic so uh. Scroll to the end notes if you want to read some disjointed information abt this AU (that WILL contain spoilers probably). 
> 
> This fic has been killing me I never write anything that's over like,,,,, 3k so this was SO HARD for me my god. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I don't know anything about real life strip clubs or sex workers!! I have the utmost respect for anyone in that profession, and any views that characters hold do not reflect my views on sex work/stripping/exotic dancing etc. (To that end, anything that is wildly inaccurate is that way because I am not super informed and didn't do much research-- this fic is meant to be for fun and not taken seriously)

The first time that Max sees the strange woman decked out in her long leather duster and that worn, wide-brimmed hat, she does not bother to pay much attention to her. After all, she has her paying clients to attend to. There are too many willing men and women poking money into her lacey green thong for her to care about a strange woman by the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey. 

At the end of the night, she leaves without saying a word to anyone, according to Silver. Max, included.

“Her eyes _did_ follow one lucky lady the entire night,” he adds, though, winking in Max’s direction. Max rolls her eyes and shoves good-naturedly at Idelle when she and the other girls begin to tease her. 

* * *

If she is being honest with herself, the stranger completely slips Max’s mind until the next time she shows up inside of the club. When she does, she is in the same long leather duster, and Max passes directly by her only once in an attempt to catch a glimpse of her face. It is purely out of curiosity, of course, no matter what looks Idelle and Silver both give her when they catch her wandering off in the direction of the bar. 

From what Max can tell, the stranger is wholly uninterested in her surroundings, because her gaze stays locked on her glass the entire time Max is near her. 

“She’s watching you again,” Idelle murmurs in her ear after they perform together onstage. Idelle has a hand on her ass, daintily resting there against warm skin beneath Max’s thong. “Look, now, but be casual.” 

Max laughs like Idelle has said something funny and turns her cheek into Idelle’s, so that she can _just_ catch a glimpse of the stranger. The woman is still at the bar, but for the first time, Max can see her face, and the sight might have taken her breath away if she had any sense of dignity or shame left in her body. 

As it is, she wishes —ridiculously, wildly— that the strange woman would drop her hat on the bar and come join them. 

Her face is half in shadow; the brim of her hat seems to be shielding her from most of the lights flashing around them. Her mouth is set into a grimace, but when she tilts her head up _just so,_ Max can see her eyes, can see the intensity in her gaze as she stares right back at her and Idelle. 

Max kisses Idelle’s cheek and makes eye contact with the strange woman, and the woman _glares_ and knocks back the rest of her whiskey. She turns to slam the glass on the bar and flag down Billy for another drink, and Max takes her cue to pull away from Idelle. 

“See?” Idelle says, grinning and squeezing Max’s ass. 

Max spins to rid herself of Idelle’s grip, theatrically enough that they catch a few wolf-whistles from two men apparently more interested in them than in the new act that has taken the stage. “Yes. I saw.” 

She isn’t sure exactly _what_ it is that she has just seen, but it lights something in her chest up like a firecracker. 

The woman leaves a reasonable tip and pays in cash, Billy informs her when she corners him at the end of the night to ask if he’d gotten her name. 

“She has to have given you a name for you to hold her tab,” Max demands impatiently. Billy shakes his head. 

“She pays for every drink when she orders it. No tab, no card, no name,” he tells her. Max huffs in frustration. “Why do you care, anyway? She didn’t move all night. Do you think she’s dangerous?”

Max stares hard at Billy, sizing him up. He’s a good kid— overeager in most things, very willing to please. Silver thinks highly of him, but only behind his back. She has seen him interfere when men get too handsy with the girls without proper pay, and she has also seen him lift a female customer into his arms, bridle-style, to keep her from hurting one of the girls when she shot him a panicked look over a drugged glass of rum and coke. He will not hesitate to protect her, to protect _them,_ and it is evident in the way his stance hardens as she gazes at him thoughtfully. 

“I do not know,” she tells him with a delicate shrug of her shoulders. “Something about her… I do not think she is a threat. But I _am_ interested in her. It feels like she is hiding something.”

Billy frowns. “Doesn’t that mean you should leave her alone?”

Max smiles then, soft and mysterious. “I do not think so,” she says, and pats him on the arm like she’s attempting to calm an overzealous child. “Make conversation with her if you see her again? For me? I would like to know her name.”

Billy stares at her like she’s grown a second head, but in the end, he agrees, and Max kisses his cheek and leaves an imprint of dark lipstick against his schoolboy blush before finally sauntering off to go and get changed for the night.

* * *

Billy does not get a chance to catch the stranger’s name before Max manages to find it out on her own. 

The night is half-over, and it is a Saturday, which means the men are rowdier than usual to give themselves a good story to take into their Confessionals in the morning. Max is sitting on the lap of a pretty American boy with a smile like molasses and a thick wad of cash in his pocket when she glances over and sees a large man plop himself down beside the woman with the hat and duster. 

Suddenly, the American boy’s breathless groaning can no longer hold her attention. 

Max stills on his lap, ignoring the way he continues to grind up against her ass. He bites the side of her neck, and she tilts her head to the side out of habit, but she can’t find it in herself to fake a moan. 

At the bar, the large, bald man grins toothily at the strange woman. She turns her back to him, spinning in her seat to show her disinterest. Max cannot see her face, but she remembers the grimace on the woman’s lips from just days ago. There is no doubt in her mind that the same expression is in place again, this time directed at the bald man. 

The pretty American boy groans, and Max feels a familiar muted wetness spread against her ass. She allows herself a brief moment of satisfaction and then rises, pressing her lips lightly to the American boy’s. He sighs against her mouth, and when she pulls away, hands her the wad of cash from his pocket. She catches Silver’s eye, and as she moves towards the bar, he intercepts her to take the money from her hand. Max doesn’t bother to listen to whatever amused comment he makes about the boy she’s just seduced. Instead, her gaze is firmly locked on the strange woman and the bald man beside her, who seems to be growing increasingly agitated as the former continues to ignore him. 

“Get Billy to this side of the room. Do not allow him to interfere until I give him a signal,” she says in an undertone as she slides away from Silver. He takes one look at her face and nods once, slipping off into the crowd in his own direction, towards the front of the club. 

While she trusts her instincts well enough, Max is also well-aware that her thin frame does not make for much in a fight. She trusts Billy, trusts him more than the slacker that is bartending for them tonight. With Billy shadowing security in place of their normal bouncer, it is much safer to have him aware that an altercation is likely to occur. Max knows it, and she knows that Silver knows it, too. 

Max makes it to the bar just as the bald man seems to snap. 

“Watch yerself, _cunt,”_ he snaps, reaching for the stranger’s arm. 

Max tenses where she is. She still can’t see the stranger’s face, but she can _feel_ the electricity in the air, volatile and wild as lightning itself. 

The woman tears her arm away and whips around in her seat, red hair flying beneath her hat like Medusa’s snakes. “Don’t _fucking_ touch me,” she half-hisses, half-growls. Her voice is rough; Max wonders just how much whiskey she’s had to drink tonight. 

Bald man smirks. The smugness of his expression makes Max want to claw off his penis until he begs for forgiveness.

“I’ll touch you _whereva’_ the hell I want,” he leers, reaching out for the woman again. 

Faster than the bald man is able to move, and almost faster than Max is able to process it, the strange woman leaps off of her stool and throws her whiskey directly into the man’s face. 

Max moves immediately, throwing herself forward between the man and the woman. She tosses her arms up and straight out from her sides, protecting the woman behind her from the man’s anger. 

“You fucking _bitch—“_

“Stop it,” Max snaps, voice clear and firm. The man blinks at her. “There are plenty of girls here willing to service your needs for the right price. This woman is a customer just like yourself. Leave her alone and try your luck elsewhere.”

The music is still thumping, and onstage, three girls are vying for the attention of a large crowd of drunken revellers. The group gathered around the bar, however, is much quieter. All eyes are on them, on _Max,_ and she knows it. It is not the first time she has put herself in the middle of a difficult situation, although it _is_ the first time that it has been on the behalf of someone who is not one of her fellow girls. 

It does not, however, feel like the wrong thing to do, so Max stays where she is and stares levelly at the bald man glaring her down in return. 

“Get out of my way, whore,” he growls. 

Max doesn’t flinch. “Move along, or I will have someone do it for you.” Behind her, the woman hasn’t moved; Max can see her in her peripheral. Her hat is askew on her head, revealing freckled skin to the coloured lights flashing about and dark eyes locked on the altercation in front of her. 

The bald man steps forward without warning, and Max’s eyes slam shut when he grabs at her throat and squeezes. Her air supply cuts off abruptly and she chokes, clutching pitifully at his stupid, sausage-y fingers as he lifts her at least an inch off the ground by her windpipe.

Three things happen at once, and —truth be told— Max feels like she sees it all in slow motion. Silver gives a shout like a wounded animal and lurches forward. Billy seconds him and rushes towards the bald man like he’s going to catch him in a football tackle. And the stranger… 

The stranger _growls,_ low and dangerous, and kicks the bald man so hard that Max can feel his entire body spasm from the impact. 

The kick lands directly between his legs, and the effect is instantaneous. Before Billy or Silver can reach them, the ground rushes harshly back to meet Max’s feet and she stumbles backwards into the stranger, who catches her easily and wraps an arm around her bare middle to steady her. 

Billy heaves the bald man up, promptly ignores his pitiful whining, and drags him bodily towards the front of the club. Max highly doubts that they will ever see his face around here again, but she cannot say that she minds. 

Silver takes control of the situation, gesturing for the temp bartender and cheerfully announcing, “The fun’s over there, folks, get your drinks and get your arses back into gear! The night is a-wasting!”

“Thank you,” Max rasps, once she has enough breath back in her lungs to speak. She reaches up to rub her throat; it is painful enough that she is sure that there will be bruises there by the time she leaves the club tonight. 

The stranger carefully retracts her arm once Max is standing on her own two feet. “Don’t mention it,” she mutters. She doesn’t look at Max when she speaks, but this close to her, Max can see her face even with the shadow that her hat casts. She looks… nervous, or scared, like she is unsure of the fact that she is even standing here in the first place. It is… cute. 

Max extends her hand. “Max,” she says. The stranger stares at her for a beat too long, like the sudden stab at normalcy in the middle of a seedy strip club is too much for her to comprehend. 

And then, miraculously, the stranger grabs her hand and shakes it once, jerking their joined hands up and down once before pulling away like she’s been burned. “Anne.”

“Anne,” Max repeats. It suits the stranger. She can’t put her finger on a reason _why,_ but the name just… _fits._ “It is nice to meet you, Anne. Drinks are the house tonight, for you.” She wants to wink, but she doesn’t want to frighten Anne off when this is the closest they’ve gotten thus far. Instead, she gestures to the bar with a wide, sweeping motion that allows her to stretch her body and puff out her chest. “I am sorry for any inconvenience that man caused you.”

“You don’t have to—“

Max cuts her off with a smile. “No. But I want to.” She stretches both arms above her head, rubs at her throat a last time, and then gives Anne a little wave. “Until next time, Anne,” she says, and doesn’t give Anne a chance to respond. 

She walks by Billy on her way through the club, and he nods once. She nods back appreciatively; the bald man will not be of any trouble to any of them anymore. 

She gestures Billy to her, and when he is close enough, she stands on her toes and pulls at his shoulders until he leans close enough for her to whisper in his ear. 

“Her name is Anne. I was right about her: she is not dangerous to me.”

“To you,” is all Billy says in return, dryly. Max just shrugs and lets the crowd sweep her away.

* * *

“Forgive me for intruding, but you do not seem like you are having a good time here,” Max says as she slides into the leather-clad seat beside Anne at the bar. The night has been running slow enough thus far for her to feel justified in taking a break to pursue this endeavour that she _hopes_ will be more fruitful than the pretty young girl Idelle has been chasing without a chance of success all night. 

Anne jerks her head up, pulling her gaze all at once from her customary glass of whiskey that she is holding loosely against the bar between her slender fingers. 

Max, irrationally, wants to take that hand away from the glass and suck those delicately calloused fingers into her mouth. 

She does not give life to the impulse. Instead, she offers Anne a gentle smile, an expression meant to coax and calm and soften. It’s the smile she gives the young men, out on the town for the first time in their lives, the ones who are not quite eighteen who have snuck inside with their fake IDs and their pockets full of crumpled cash. 

Anne does not soften, but she does not glare, either. She merely stares at Max like she is some sort of alien… _thing_. She stares at Max like she is lost, like she is looking for an answer to a question she dares not ask. 

“Why do you come?” Max gestures to the temp-turned-official bartender, and the old man shuffles over a minute later with an Old Fashioned and sets it on the bar in front of her. She turns her smile on him, her gaze much sharper than it had been for Anne. “Thank you, Randall.”

Randall grumbles something that Max cannot hear over the thumping of the music coming from the stage and shuffles off towards the other end of the bar. Max resists the urge to roll her eyes, but only just. 

“What do you care?” Anne’s voice is just as rough as it had been on the night that they had both been accosted by the ugly bald man. Max wonders what it would take to make her moan, what that husky tone might sound like in the throes of passion.

Max takes a good sip of her drink and gazes speculatively at Anne over the top of her glass. When she sets it down, half of the bourbon is gone. “You have been watching me,” she says. It is a calculated risk; if Anne is too flustered by the accusation, it is possible that she will react violently or leave. Max highly doubts the former, at the very least. 

The risk pays off. Anne’s face flushes as red as bright as her hair and her eyes go wide beneath the brim of her hat. “You—“

“I do not mind,” Max says, smiling softly. “I am aware that I am a sight to behold.” She pushes a few strands of hair back from her own face, tucking them languidly behind her ear. The thin, silken robe that she is wearing falls open at the chest when she moves, and she does nothing to remedy it. 

Anne’s eyes drop immediately to the exposed skin, where the two golden stars pasted over her nipples are the only things keeping her within the club’s guidelines for the girls when they are not onstage. Triumph races through Max’s veins, warm and sweet. 

“I want you to look,” Max adds, soft and coy and sweet. 

Anne jolts like she’s been electrocuted and tears her gaze away without warning, turning her head to the side so quickly that Max is afraid she is going to give herself whiplash. “Stop it. Fuck you,” she snaps. 

Despite the sudden hostility, Max does not doubt the surety of her own continued safety in Anne’s presence. She’s seen what Anne can do in a pinch, seen what she can reduce a man to in mere moments. If she really wanted Max to leave her alone, there is no doubt that it would be very widely known. 

“You do not mean that,” Max states after a moment, peering at Anne like she is some kind of curious specimen beneath a microscope. “But you wish that you did.” She leans into Anne’s space. “What are you trying so hard to hide, my dear?” 

Anne doesn’t so much as look at her. “Fuck you,” she repeats. A desperation has crept into her tone, and it softens Max’s gaze even further despite her best efforts to keep her own confident front in place.

This woman intrigues her, and Max has never been one to leave intrigue alone. It has gotten her into trouble in the past, but it does not stop her from leaning in close to Anne and brushing her lips _just so_ against the shell of her ear. It does not stop her from smiling when Anne lets out a trembling sigh, when Anne does not push her away. 

“Follow me,” she murmurs, and Anne _shudders._ Her body shifts, and while she is still tense, Max feels her lean slightly into the warmth of the body against her own. 

And just like that, Max leans away and slides delicately off of her stool. Anne looks to her wildly, and Max gestures by crooking one finger slightly towards herself, her smile coaxing and mischievous all in one. 

When she begins to drift away, Anne downs her whiskey in one gulp and lands heavily on the ground to follow her. 

Max leads Anne to the hallway where the girls often congregate for the breaks. Several doors open up to several rooms, all of which have names upon them declaring them to belong to different individuals or groups of them. Max has been here long enough to have her own dressing room, and the seniority and sense to talk herself into keeping it any time one of the other girls gets too close to her for comfort. 

It serves her well now, because she leads Anne inside and relaxes immediately, loosening her robe further and allowing herself to lose the perky gait she keeps herself to on the floor. She slides off her shoes and tosses them indelicately to the side, and then finally turns to see Anne again, to really _look_ at her now that they are under lights that soften instead of frighten. 

Anne’s entire body seems tightly coiled, like a spring about to lose its war with gravity and fly up, up, away from the ground. For reasons that she cannot quite explain, Max wants to catch her before she disappears forever into the sky, swallowed by pure white clouds that don’t deserve such an angel among them. 

“I do not wish to do anything against your consent,” Max begins softly. She takes a step towards Anne, who has not moved from her spot just beyond the doorway. Anne does not move away, but she does not move closer, either. She seems rooted to the spot; whether it is out of nerves or genuine upset, Max cannot say for sure. “But I would like to get to know you better, Anne.”

Anne falters for a split second, and then she tips the brim of her hat up slightly, giving Max a better view of her face. Her lips are parted, her eyes clouded with a desperation that Max feels echoed in her own face. “You— You don’t know me,” she gets out, but it is barely a protestation. If anything, it feels like it is an invitation. 

In slow, measured paces, Max closes the distance between them. Anne stays tense, but she also presses into Max’s hand when Max rests a gentle hand on her cheek. 

“Will you let me?” she asks, voice barely a murmur. Anne’s lips, still parted in a gorgeous picture of desire, slip open even wider to let her tongue poke out and wet them. Max lets her gaze be drawn to it, lets her eyes linger on the movement, and only just sees Anne’s cheeks flush in the periphery. 

A soft sound, somewhere between a whine and a whimper, falls from Anne’s throat, spurring Max into action. She tilts her head up, parts her own lips, and kisses Anne with all the tenderness that she can possibly force into one gentle declaration of intent. 

Helplessly, Anne surges into her, and Max swallows the desperate whimper that she lets out and wraps one arm around her waist to keep her steady. Anne’s hands clutch desperately at the silken robe Max is still wearing until one of them finds its way into her hair, tangling in amongst the product she wears to work and making a home for itself against her wavy brown locks. 

It feels like forever and no time at all has passed simultaneously when they part again, even though they do not move far from one another's lips. Max holds Anne close, holds her up; she feels as though Anne might fall if she does not support her weight. They gasp together for breath, panting softly in Max’s case and raggedly in Anne’s. Max pulls Anne towards the bed, where they fall into a warm, besotted tangle of limbs. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Anne whispers as she pulls Max on top of her. Max grins and kisses her again, soundly, until Anne is arching up against her and moaning her name and they’ve both forgotten the rest of the club outside of their room, their bed. “ _Yes_ ,” she repeats, when Max moves her kisses southward, when Anne presses her chest into the heat of her seeking mouth. “ _Yes, yes, yes--”_

* * *

The fifth time that Max sees the strange woman decked out in her long leather duster and that worn, wide-brimmed hat, the smile on her face makes her feel like she is going to burst. She finishes her show with practiced, easy movements, but her gaze is drawn back to Anne with every moment that she cannot be near to her. 

It is her last show of the night. Asking Anne to come later, to come specifically for _her_ at the end of her shift, feels like a risk that she must be willing to take. Anne’s trepidation, softened by the post-coital cuddling that they had been engaging in when Max had slipped the question out, had been unsurprising. 

That fact that she is _here,_ now, is very much more so. 

Anne is drinking her customary glass of whiskey when Max approaches the bar. It awakens a fondness in Max’s chest that she is as wary as she is excited to feel to see her again; Max is well-aware of her tendency to fall too hard, too quickly, but she is not afraid of Anne. She never has been, not from the first moment she had lain eyes upon her; she is not about to begin to fear her now. 

Dressed in her street clothes, Max takes a seat beside Anne and playfully knocks one of her knees against one of Anne’s. “I was worried that I would not see you tonight,” she says just above the pulse of the music around them, smiling when Anne startles to look at her. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Anne offers a tiny smile in response from beneath the shadow of her hat and lets her knee rest lightly against Max’s. “So was I,” she replies. It sounds like an admittance of weakness. 

Max does not comment on it. There is no need to, not when they both can see it out in the open for what it is. She merely lifts Anne’s hand from the glass that it is loosely resting against and raises it to her lips to kiss it softly. “Shall we?” 

There is still whiskey in the glass, but Anne does not even glance in the direction of the bar before nodding. Another spark of light, bright and desirous and _wild_ , drops right into the pit of Max’s stomach. She grins when Anne threads their fingers together and slides off of her barstool. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” she says, her voice rough. Max follows her lead, and then easily guides her through the floor until they have found their way to the door. Billy raises both of his eyebrows at her when he catches her eye. 

Max squeezes Anne’s hand and bats good-naturedly at Billy’s chest without saying a word as they leave. Billy snorts and shakes his head, but he does not say anything condemning, either, which Max is more than willing to count as a win. 

In the cool, late-night-early-morning air, Max stops around the side of the building, just before they reach the parking lot. With the streetlamps around them lighting their way, she can just make out a concerned look on Anne’s face before Max presses her gently against the wall and brushes their lips together. 

It is less a kiss than it is a mere chaste touch, but it feels electric all the same. “I have missed you,” Max murmurs against Anne’s lips. She is rewarded with a laugh, as warm and rough as the whiskey that Anne favours. 

“We saw each other last night,” Anne murmurs back, her voice snagging on _saw_ and turning the _w_ into an _r_. “You got better things to think about than me, ain’t you?” 

Max shakes her head just enough to disconnect their lips, and makes up for it by kissing Anne properly until both of them are panting. “No,” she whispers. She slides her fingers through the length of Anne’s hair and up to her hat, tilting it back and away from her face. The flush there is pronounced and gorgeous, and only deepens at the answer Max has for her. “I have not stopped thinking about you since the moment we parted last night. I would not lie to you about something like this.” 

To Max’s surprise, Anne is the one that kisses _her_ , fiercely and without a second thought. It is all Max can do to keep up, until Anne breaks the kiss to whisper, “God help me, I believe you. D’you know that?”

She does not doubt Anne’s sincerity for a moment. Despite how _new_ this sweetness is between them, despite the desperation she knows she holds within herself to someone to _choose me, please choose me,_ despite Anne’s apparent nerves… Max does not doubt that this, here, is a moment of great significance to her, and therefore, to _them_. 

“I do,” Max murmurs. She kisses Anne again, softly. “I am glad that you do,” she adds just before they part. Anne reaches for her hand again when they resume walking together towards the lot where Max’s car is parked, and this time, it is Max who threads their fingers together, lacing them tightly and holding on as though her life somehow depends upon it. 

When they enter the car, smiling softly at one another in the low gleam from the little overhead light on the ceiling, Max notices immediately that Anne’s hat is still tilted back from her face. It is a good look on her. She gazes, starstruck, at an Anne that bows her head bashfully in the line of her stare but that does not hide herself beneath the brim that she normally conceals herself behind, and she can envision in that moment a life where Anne looks as happy and _soft_ as she does in this moment. 

Tonight will not lead to that by itself, perhaps, but it is a wonderful start.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so uhhhh... lore:  
> -John Silver owns a strip club that operates lowkey like a?? brothel?? Legal prostitution ring? Idk he's got a strip club and people pay the girls that work there for sex.  
> -Billy works as a bartender, and then winds up replacing Gates as Head of Security when he was injured in a fight with a particularly violent man.  
> -Eleanor and Max dated for awhile, until Eleanor told Max that she had a lot of big career dreams for herself and that Max was... not involved in any of those dreams. Eleanor also wasn't a huge fan of Max doing sex work, which was a big point of contention in their relationship.  
> -(tw internalised homophobia) Jack and Anne are in an open relationship and also having some good good Relationship Drama™, so Anne goes to the closest club she knows to drink. As soon as she sees Max, it's immediate heart-eyes and then self-hatred when that good good internalised homophobia hits.  
> -While Hamund is never mentioned by name, but he was the bald asshole that assaulted Max. 
> 
> I make no promises to expand upon this universe, but... It _might_ be a possibility, someday. Sometime. Who knows. 
> 
> Kudos/comments are love! Come scream at me on tumblr @deathishauntedbyhumans


End file.
